3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
November 1791 Longbourn, Hertfordshire Mr. Bennet
T ime ceased to have meaning. Thomas hardly remembered the funeral. Mavery had come, and the earl and countess. Neighbors delivered their condolences. And then they were all gone. Olivia was in the ground, and all the light and happiness seemed to be drained from the world.
He could not bear to live in a world where she did not exist. Forgotten were the two innocent babes in the nursery. Instead, Mr. Thomas Bennet, master of Longbourn and recent widower, drowned his sorrows in the bottle, locking himself in his library and refusing visitors.
His brother-in-law and best friend's arrival at his doorstep in early November greatly surprised him, scarcely a month after his last visit when they buried poor Olivia in the Longbourn churchyard. Bleary-eyed, Thomas squinted at his friend.
“Mavery!” he slurred, attempting to stand. “What bringsh you here? I th-thought you had buishness in the north.”
“Bennet.” Mavery’s curt reply brought a little more lucidity to Thomas’s mind. “What are you about, wallowing in such a manner? I never took you to be one for drink.” Mavery’s gaze strayed to the empty decanters and bottles littering the room. “Have you no shame?”
The harsh words sobered Thomas further. “My wife has died, sir,” he said testily. “Have you no compassion or understanding?”
“Olivia was my sister far longer than she was your wife,” Mavery snapped. “Yes, it is a different sort of relationship, but I, too, lost someone that I love dearly. Yet, I am going about my life, trying my best to behave how Olivia would have wished.” He softened his tone and put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Your daughters are upstairs. Have you even seen them since the funeral?”
Thomas shook his head. “I cannot bear it.” Sobbing, he buried his face in his hands. “Elizabeth has her eyes. And Mary… My sweet Mary. Neither of them will know their mother.”
Mavery tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder. “Then it is up to you to keep her memory alive. You must tell them about their mother. She will live on in the girls, but you need to foster that.”
Thomas nodded. “Sit, Mavery. You did not just come to see to my welfare. What brings you to Longbourn?”
Mavery smiled wryly. “You know me so well,” he murmured. “In truth, I came to Longbourn with a purpose beyond shaking you from the black mood you wallow in. Mrs. Hill wrote a week ago, telling me about your state, and I set out almost immediately. My sister's loss brings into sharp relief the fragility of our mortal state. I wish to confer with you about my nieces' future. They deserve every opportunity that their mother had, as befitting the granddaughters of an earl.”
“I shall ensure they receive all that is their due.” Thomas knew he sounded defensive, but he did not care.
His friend chuckled. “You and I both know that you despise the season and town,” he said. “Olivia would have made you take the girls—you know that to be true. And so, I present to you a solution that will satisfy both of us. Will you hear it?”
“Go on.” Thomas rubbed a hand over his eyes. His head pounded, but the sooner he agreed to whatever Mavery had to say, the quicker his friend would leave, and Thomas could return to… whatever it was he had been doing.
Mavery reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and held it out to his friend. Thomas took it and squinted his eyes. The words on the paper would not hold still, and his head pounded as he tried to focus.
“It is no use, Mavery,” he grumbled. “I cannot read it in my state.”
“Then I shall tell you what is there,” Mavery said, taking the paper back. “As you know, Olivia’s dowry was a handsome sum of thirty thousand pounds. I propose we put it in a trust for Elizabeth and Mary, leaving it in the four per cents so that it grows. By the time they are ready for a come out, my calculations put their respective dowries around twenty-five thousand pounds each. This will see them well provided for, even if they choose not to marry.”
Mavery cleared his throat. “As for a season in town, I insist that they each have at least one before they marry. Additionally, I insist that you and I agree to release the dowry only if they receive our blessing before their marriage. This will prevent unscrupulous men from forcing their hand.”
“Are not the girls a bit young to be thinking about this?” Thomas’s head pounded.
Head shaking, Mavery disagreed. “No, not at all. Putting this in place now ensures there are no issues in the future.” He examined the paper in his hand. “Ah, one more thing. I wish for you and the girls to visit Elm Grove every summer. Mary and Elizabeth ought to know their mother’s family.”
“I do not wish… it is too hard. Please.” Tears threatened again, and Thomas choked back the sob that strangled his throat.
“You may send them by themselves if you like,” Mavery said sadly. “I will ensure their safety. We can retrieve them on our way north after parliament ends and then return them in the autumn on our way back to town.”
Thomas nodded. He would agree to anything if it meant a return to his miserable solitude.
“Very well. I shall have the terms drawn up. Is there a solicitor here that will do the work? I want everything taken care of before I leave Longbourn. I am for London. Father has business he wishes me to see to.”
“There is a man in Meryton. Gardiner is his name. Take it there. He will oblige you.” Thomas grimaced. His friend’s desire to see all resolved meant that Mavery would not be departing Longbourn that night. “Shall I have Hill arrange a room for you?”
“I already told her I would be staying.” Mavery stared at his brother-in-law severely. “I believe I shall hurry into Meryton before supper. Perhaps I can convince Mr. Gardiner to have everything ready for signatures tomorrow.”
Mind wandering, Thomas waved a hand in acknowledgement.
“You will join me for the meal.” Mavery’s words were not a request.
Thomas bristled in irritation. “Yes, yes, I will not leave you to dine alone.”
Mavery nodded. “Very good. Then, afterwards, you and I will visit the nursery.”
Thomas stiffened. “No! No, do not make me, I beg you. I cannot bear it.”
“Have you even seen Mary, Thomas? Your daughter is more than a month old! My friend, your girls need you. They need a father, more so now that their mother is gone. Do not forsake them. Do not allow your sorrow to blind you to the blessing of their presence.”
“I am afraid,” Thomas admitted brokenly. “I already love them so much. What if they, too, leave me? Worse yet, what if I hold great resentment for my little Mary, for robbing me of her mother’s presence? I should hate myself for feeling so toward my child.”
“That you consider these feelings does you great credit. I cannot see my friend, Mr. Thomas Bennet, ever falling into such depths as to hold a grudge against an innocent babe.” Mavery stood. “I shall return as soon as I can.”
Mavery departed, leaving Thomas alone with his thoughts. Drink still clouded his mind, and he looked longingly toward the bottle that sat on his desk. It would be best to stay sober until his friend left. Instead of pouring another measure of amber liquid, he stood up and left the library for the first time in a month, making his way upstairs to his chambers.
He and Olivia had shared a bed every night. The mistress’s chambers had been her own, but most nights they had fallen asleep in the master’s rooms. Thomas paused outside the door, memories flooding his mind. He extended his hand, wrapping it around the knob and slowly turning it. The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges.
It was cold. No fire had been lit in some time. The drawn drapes further threw the room into shadow. Slowly, he stepped into the chamber and walked to the center of the room. There were hints of Olivia’s perfume lingering in the air, and little signs of her presence were everywhere. A shawl on a chair, her nightgown draped across the foot of the bed… Choking back another cry of anguish, Thomas turned and rushed from the room. He retreated to his library, where he stationed himself in front of the fire until Mavery returned.
The evening meal was a tortuous affair. Mavery spoke of Olivia, of shared memories. His words were happy, even laced as they were with sorrow at his sister’s parting. Thomas could hardly bear it. After the meal, his brother-in-law announced that they would visit the nursery. Thomas followed reluctantly.
He counted the stairs as he climbed. One, two, three… when he reached fifteen and the top of the staircase, he counted the steps until they reached the nursery door. Mavery knocked once and opened it, stepping inside whilst greeting the nursery maid. Molly was her name. Olivia had hired her.
“Good evening, sir.” The girl curtsied. “Miss Bennet is about ready to sleep. I am certain she will be glad for visitors. Miss Mary is being fed, and then Nurse Potts will bring her out.”
Thomas recalled Potts was the name of the wet nurse they had hired some months ago. He could hardly remember what she looked like. Molly walked over to the little cradle across the room and retrieved a squirming bundle. “Come now, Miss Bennet. Your father and uncle are here to see you.” She cradled the child tenderly in her arms, walking slowly toward the gentlemen. Carefully, she placed Thomas’s daughter in his arms.
Almost instantly, love flooded his heart. He beheld Elizabeth’s brilliant eyes, twinkling in the firelight and so very like her mother’s. Dark curls tickled her ears, and her thumb was stuck securely in her mouth.
“Good evening, my love,” he cooed. She responded by granting him a toothy grin, dimples forming on her cheeks. It felt very right to have her here. “Your uncle came to see you.” Turning, he showed the babe to Mavery. The viscount’s eyes glistened in the firelight. He extended his arms and took his niece from her father.
“Sweet Elizabeth,” he said. “You are so very like your mother.”
“And here is Miss Mary,” Molly chimed in. Nurse Potts entered the room, cradling the little babe. “She has grown quite a bit since her birth, sir, though she is still very small.”
“Yes, I recall the midwife said the babe came early.” Mavery’s sober words reminded Thomas that his wife was gone, and his throat thickened again with unshed tears. Still, he accepted the swaddled babe from the nurse.
“She is very small,” he said involuntarily. Elizabeth had been a plump child, crying robustly from the second she had been born. This child was half that size, with skinny limbs and a few strands of wispy hair on her head.
“Yes, sir,” Nurse Potts said. “The midwife says it is a miracle she is alive. She suspects Miss Mary was not due for at least three more weeks when she was born.”
“Our little miracle,” Mavery said. He came closer, Elizabeth still in his arms. “She has Olivia’s ears. I suppose it is too soon to tell if she, too, has her mother’s eyes.”
“Mary Catherine,” Thomas murmured. “It seems fitting.” Something in his chest loosened. “My sweet Mary.” He kissed her head gently. The babe’s eyes were closed, her perfect cupid bow lips sucking on nothing as she slept. Tears pricked his eyes, and his hands began to shake. Carefully, he transferred the baby back to Nurse Potts. Without a word, he left the room.
Mavery followed a short while later, finding Thomas in the library with a glass of port in his hand.
“I shall leave early tomorrow,” he said, sitting next to his brother-in-law. “Mrs. Hill has promised to write to me if…” he trailed off.
“You mean if I drink myself into oblivion?” Thomas said sardonically.
“Confound it, Bennet!” Mavery slapped the arm of his chair angrily. “Stop being so flippant! You have so much to live for! If you cannot pull yourself together, I shall take my nieces back to Elm Grove.”
The threat was enough to awaken Thomas from his drunk stupor. “You will not,” he seethed. “They are all I have left of Olivia.”
“Then treat them as the treasure they are.” Mavery stood abruptly. “I am to bed. Goodbye for now, Thomas.”
The viscount was gone the next morning when Thomas roused himself. Unfortunately, without his presence, Mr. Bennet sank again into his cups. Thus, it was when Mr. Harold Gardiner came to call late in December, Thomas was in a vulnerable position and ripe to be taken advantage of.
“Mr. Harold Gardiner to see you, sir,” Mrs. Hill said.
“Send him in,” Thomas replied. His mind was fuzzy. It was always like that these days. Nearly two months now since Olivia had died, and he was no nearer to recovering his spirits than that terrible day.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Gardiner said. He held his hat in his hands and worried the brim with his fingers. “I come on a matter of business and great urgency. Will you hear me?”
“Certainly, sir, sit. Would you like a drink?” Thomas poured a generous amount of brandy into glasses for them and handed one to Mr. Gardiner. Quickly, he drank his, waiting for the warm, fuzzy feeling the alcohol brought.
Mr. Gardiner put his glass down without drinking from it. “I have come, sir, to present an idea to you.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I have two daughters, as you know. Both married young, to promising solicitors. The eldest, Mrs. Fanny Younge, has recently found herself widowed. My son-in-law, Albert Younge, died in a carriage accident, leaving my daughter Fanny, and their only child, Jane, alone. Though she has a dowry, it is not large, and Fanny is in dire straits.”
“Can she not live with you?” Thomas asked curiously.
“We have not the room,” Mr. Gardiner replied. “My other daughter, Mrs. Phillips, and her husband have the only other room in our small house. Fanny and her husband had a small cottage in Derbyshire, but now that her husband is gone, my daughter wishes to be closer to her family.”
“I do not understand what this has to do with me.” Thomas poured himself another glass of brandy. The drink inhibited his cognitive functions, but he did not care.
“I wish for you to marry her,” he said succinctly.
Thomas laughed. “Whatever for?” he asked.
Mr. Gardiner grimaced. “It is a mutually beneficial situation for you both,” he continued. “My Fanny has a daughter some two years older than your eldest. She can be a mother to both your girls, and you can provide a home for her and her child.”
It made sense to Thomas’s befuddled mind. A mother for his girls? Yes, it was a fine idea.
“Very well,” he said. “When?”
Gardiner looked surprised and then pleased. There was a glint of something in his eyes that confused Bennet, but he was too far in his cups to puzzle out the expression. “Tomorrow,” his guest said. “I have arranged with the parson for a common license. Best get it over with immediately.”
Thomas nodded. Gardiner pushed some papers in front of him. “These are the marriage articles. You will marry Fanny. Her dowry will go to Jane and any other daughters you have together.” Gardiner signed the papers and then pushed the pen into Bennet’s hands. “Sign here, please.” He pointed to a line and Thomas scrawled his signature. He signed three more copies and then his guest rose to depart. “I shall leave this copy here,” he said.
Thomas spent the night drinking. He was properly soused that morning. His valet helped him to bathe and dress, a disapproving scowl on his face the entire time. At ten o’clock, Gardiner arrived and escorted Thomas to the church. Waiting for him was a lovely lady with blond hair and blue eyes—quite the opposite in appearance to Olivia. Mrs. Fanny Younge was tall, too, at least five inches taller than his Olivia had been.
Seemingly instantaneously, the marriage ceremony ended, and they signed the register. Gardiner escorted Mr. and Mrs. Bennet back to Longbourn, promising to deliver Jane the next day. Still in his cups, Bennet agreed to the plan and escorted the lady on his arm upstairs.
The next morning, Thomas awoke in his bed, his head aching. As he came to, he became aware that he was not alone. An arm draped across his waist, and a head of blond hair rested on his shoulder. With a cry of alarm, he pulled away and threw the covers off. He tumbled out of bed and onto the floor. Now sober for the first time in two months, he struggled to comprehend the woman in his bed.
“Thomas?” she said, sitting up and pulling the bed linens around her. “Are you well?”
“Who the devil are you?” he spat. “What are you doing in my bed?”
She giggled. “Oh, husband, you are a funny man. Father said it would be a good match. I adore a tease!” she slid out of the bed and onto the floor next to him. She walked her fingers up his chest and tangled them into the hair at the base of his neck. Then she pulled his face closer and kissed him passionately.
Thomas felt ill. He pulled away, confusion warring with the disgust at this display. He had been a widower for no more than two months! What madness was this?
“Pray, excuse me for a moment.” Thomas stood and hastily left the room. He did not care that he was only in a nightshirt. He made his way to the library at a run. There, on his desk in plain view, was the explanation for everything.
With a sober mind, he read the documents he had signed the day before. “Oh no,” he murmured. “What have I done?”